Five minutes later, my cell rang.
“I had to go,” she said quietly. “It’s the only way I could return to you again.”
I clicked the phone off without saying a word.
I tried my hardest not to get depressed, but I couldn’t help it. I kept asking myself how something as solid as our marriage could disintegrate so quickly. Cyndi had dominated my life since I was a pubescent teenager. It was always just Cyndi and me. I had friends as a boy, but once Cyndi came into my life, she cut me off from them. The second I tried to do something with someone else, she cried that I didn’t love her anymore and that life wasn’t worth living without me. Naïve as I was, I believed and held steadfast at her side.
I never questioned my love for her. She wouldn’t allow it. Somehow, her control over me gave me strength. As for love, in her mind, sex equated to love. I loved the sex; therefore, I loved her. I was convinced that we loved each other deeply because the sex was so great.
When your day was filled with strenuous work and constant sex, there wasn’t much time for deep thoughts about whether everything you were doing was right or not. It was easier to ignore than address if there were issues – that was until the web series came into our lives.
I walked into the living room and looked at the pictures of Cyndi and me that dotted the fireplace mantel. Was there even anything left? Was walking away after so many years the answer?
If all of that wasn’t confusing enough, Thomas’s words about Owen flashed in my mind. Was he a part of this? My paranoia was running wild.
When Owen called later that evening, I was quiet and withdrawn on video chat. My trust in him was waning, and my mood quickly degraded into a pity party.
I looked at Owen as we spoke. Part of me saw him as my future; another part screamed to hold any thoughts regarding him at bay, and still another part was unsure I could let go of what Cyndi and I had together. If we were to survive, I needed to fight for her. Then, all the hateful things she’d said over the past week came to mind. Could our marriage even be saved? I wasn’t sure.
The second day, I was a total vegetable. I found it difficult to get out of bed, and when I did, I couldn’t find the physical or mental strength to work. I took care of the basic chores, but that was about it. I drank too much coffee and hardly ate anything. I spent most of the day thinking of Cyndi and me, our high school days, the wedding, and, through the years, building the house and our lives together. I dwelled on her last words to me…’ had to go…it was the only way I could come back to you again’.
They were almost the same words she said years earlier when she said she needed to go away so that she could return to me again. Why did she feel the need to leave so she could come back again? What was so much better out there that made her want to go?
It appeared that finding my inner voice had consequences. I had to find a way to deal with it without losing it. This was all new to me. I’d never felt so beaten down. I didn’t know how to ‘put on a brave face’ or ‘brush it to the side.’ I had never had to do this before.
Owen kept trying to reach out to me. When I didn’t take his call the second day, he left me a voice mail message: ‘You can rant and rave, cry if you want, repeat yourself a thousand times…just please don’t cut me out. I know you are feeling hurt, alone, and afraid. I am stuck hundreds of miles away, feeling helpless. Please let me know if you are okay. If you aren’t in a place where you can talk, know I’m thinking about you.”
The next morning, another one: I’m thinking about you.
Still another one that night: I know it’s not me. I know you need time and space. So I will tell you repeatedly that I’m thinking about you. I’m not giving up on you and counting the days until I can hold you again.
I sent him a text before I went to sleep. ‘Me too.’
Days passed without me contributing to them, except walking around the house, putting towels, shirts, pants…anything I could find—over the cameras. I didn’t want to look at or have them look at me.
I received a lengthy email from Thomas early Thursday morning detailing that they pushed our start date up. The Scottsdale chapter was floundering, and there was no way to save it. The chemistry between the older and younger couples was degrading daily. Thomas had decided to end the web series on Sunday, strip out the equipment, and hightail it back to Montana. He figured the crew would return to the farm, weather permitting, in ten days. Thomas, Devon, and Cyndi would arrive soon after. Our chapter was scheduled to begin three weeks after Scottsdale shut down.
Cyndi didn’t bother to call.
The weather had been unusually mild, holding above freezing, with the first major snowstorm of the season expected in a few days. I used the balmy thirty-three-degree weather as an excuse to make my rounds with the two elderly neighbors’ farms to check on them and ensure they had enough of everything to get them through a snowstorm. I took their shopping lists and headed to town.
The population of our town was two hundred and thirty-three. This included all the farms that supported the dairy surrounding the town. The dairy accounted for more than half of that. Only forty-seven people lived within the town limits. There was a General Store, a combo restaurant and bar, which was closed during the winter months, a boarding house/B&B, a doctor’s office that a county doctor attended and was only open one day a week, weather permitting, and a feed store that was owned by the veterinarian and also housed his clinic.
The vet, Charlie, did double duty and cared for minor issues when Doc wasn’t around. Cut yourself, and he’d stitch you up. It was a crude suturing job, but the bleeding would be stopped. If you broke a leg, he’d splint it until you could get to the Regional Medical Clinic to have it set. He’d even drive you if you had no way to get there. Bad cough? He’d fix you up a salve that would get you by until Doc came to town.
Everyone knew everyone. They were all good people who cared about their neighbors. They would give you the shirt off their back, raise a barn if needed, and like most small towns, they are unfathomably nosey, thriving on gossip.
I was halfway through shopping and listening to Ed rambling on with all the news when my phone rang. I looked at the caller ID and saw it was Owen. My mood had uplifted considerably since I’d been around people, and hearing his voice would be the icing on the cake. I answered on the second ring.
“Hi,” he said, surprised I answered.
“Hi.”
“Whatcha doing?”
“I’m still in town finishing up the errands.” I wanted anyone overhearing me to make it sound like I was speaking with Cyndi.
“Ahhh…I understand you aren’t alone.”
“That’s right…yes, I’ll tell him you said hello.” I smiled at Ed and waved as if relaying a message from Cyndi.
“I was driving and getting tired…I thought you’d help me stay awake.”
“Where are you?”
“I had to go to a farm outside of St. Paul, as you so aptly put it…in bum-fuck nowhere. It’s taking me forever to get there.”